


Love Starts at Midnight

by Kalypso



Series: Blimpslash [1]
Category: The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-19
Updated: 2012-10-19
Packaged: 2018-01-01 04:52:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalypso/pseuds/Kalypso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theo Kretschmar-Schuldorff explains why he has waited forty years to dance again with Clive Wynne-Candy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Starts at Midnight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fengirl88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fengirl88/gifts).



> This now has a companion piece, [I am Titania](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2477105), which is from Clive's point of view. I don't think it matters in which order they're read. Although I call them Blimpslash, this one is really pre-slash, and the other is virtually gen.

It began at seven in the morning, at the gymnasium of the Second Ulans in Berlin.

I was glancing at you discreetly while the Swedish colonel read the protocol. I wanted to see this Englishman who might be the death of me. I could tell he was a fine-looking young man, with strong features and a strong fore-arm, exposed where his sleeve was cut off. 

Then you caught my eye, and smiled straight at me, as if you were meeting a friend, not an enemy. Something jumped in my stomach, and it was not because of the duel.

Did you know I did not approve of duelling? But with you, I began to see how one might enjoy it. It felt as if we were dancing together, in partnership as much as in opposition. I would have liked to dance longer. We were there on business, however, and my sword found its way through your guard, and your lip was bleeding. I was sorry, though a German would have worn the scar with pride, because I thought it might disfigure your smile, but my head was bleeding too and the Swede called "Halt!"

When we met again in the nursing home at Stolpchensee, at cards with Edith and Ulla von Kalteneck, I began to love both of you English, you and Edith - very much. The choice was not difficult: I knew Edith loved me, and she was an extraordinary woman. You were extraordinary too, but differently; in some ways, you seemed so ordinary, the very stereotype, as they say now, of an English gentleman. But you were the one who gave life and character to this stereotype, and made it something to admire. Your morals were, of course, conventional; if I had told you that I wanted you, you would have said I was cuckoo. So there was no need to think of what I might have done had Edith not existed.

But you are part of the England she loved, as much as the trees and rivers she talked of so often in her last months. You are part of what everyone here is fighting for. You have a generosity most of us have lost; you see the good in people and, even when you are wrong, I like the world that you see.

There was a time when I saw things another way. I was so angry as a prisoner of war, beaten and humiliated and resentful, like my country. And seeing you again made me angry, at first; you were the successful general, living the life I thought should be mine. I relented a little before I was sent home; I realised you would not have reacted so. If I had visited you in a prison camp, you would have welcomed it as the gesture of friendship it would have been. So I telephoned you to make amends. Immediately you rushed over to bring me to your house. I wish it had been a quiet evening, you and me and your wife. Meeting your fine friends reminded me all the more of my status, of the doubtful future awaiting me in Germany. Your dinner felt like charity.

And when I returned to England in 1935, I did not tell you I was here. How could I approach you? You had a distinguished career, serving your country; I could not save my country from the Nazis, I could not even save my own sons from that madness. If I had come when Edith first wanted to return, maybe my family would not have been lost to me. But I failed, as a soldier, as a patriot, as a father. I came to England a beggar. Only when I reached my lowest ebb, threatened with internment, did I see clearly again, as I had done twenty years before; I realised you would be heartbroken if your friend was too proud to seek help in his hour of need. And again you rushed in and took me to your home. This time, it was the quiet meeting of old friends that I needed.

You asked me to stay at Cadogan Place, and I could not; to be out after midnight requires a special permit. I confess I hoped you would ask again. Now that house lies in ruins, and time is running out. I may still be interned. But this, I think, is the time for us. I am not ashamed any more; you too have lost your home and your career, you too have been a prisoner, if only for a few hours, captured by Johnny's young man. And though you responded so graciously, somehow I feel we are equal again, as we were in Berlin so long ago.

Isn't it wonderful that you found Johnny? You had no children, and I have lost my sons. But Johnny is the daughter neither of us had. We will dine with her friend, as you suggested, and then we will let the young people go.

I will ask you to walk me home, to make sure I am safely off the streets by midnight. You may not think much of my digs, but it is time for the Prince to come to Cinders. I will invite you in, to share the very last of the Kirschwasser I brought with me. I have rationed it carefully; perhaps I always knew it was for this moment.

Then I will take your arm, still strong, and at last I will kiss the lip I slashed forty years ago. And I will teach you another dance, which neither of us will lose.

And this, Clive, is the truth.


End file.
